


live wire

by regulsh



Category: Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, seriously just shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regulsh/pseuds/regulsh
Summary: He can’t stop touching him, the fine drag of the skin under his hand so supple, like he’s never felt before.
Relationships: Taron Egerton/Richard Madden
Comments: 22
Kudos: 81





	live wire

**Author's Note:**

> so richard updated his [instagram story](https://twitter.com/richardmupdates/status/1216362819077185536)

The door bangs shut as they stumble inside kissing, Taron clinging to Richard, pawing at his jacket, “Off, _off_ —”

Richard complies, tosses his jacket behind him, leaving just his thin black t-shirt. Richard’s got a million of them but this one is tighter, or is it that Richard—

Taron skitters his hands over his chest, his shoulders, gaze drawn to where Richard’s bicep strains against his shirt sleeve. “Jesus jesus jesus,” Taron whispers, tightens his hands around the firm ridges of his sides. “Richard, you're fucking insane right now. You know that, right? What am I supposed to do with all of this.”

Richard preens, fighting a smile for just a moment before drawing him in for another heated kiss. His arms feel so large and firm as they bracket Taron, it makes him dizzy as he licks deeper at Richard’s mouth, draws a hand up and strokes over his forearm—

Strokes over his forearm. And again. Frowns into the kiss, slowing until Richard pauses, pulls back. Taron runs his hand up and down Richard’s arm, looks at him accusingly. 

“Why’re you—?” The skin under his hand is hairless, all the way up and down. Taron keeps smoothing his hand in both directions.

Richard shifts, pinking just a little. “Got a wax. The costumes, they wanted—”

“A seal?” Taron finishes. He can’t stop touching him, the fine drag of the skin under his hand so supple, like he’s never felt before. 

Richard’s eyebrow quirks. “Trained seal.”

“Did it hurt?”

“It took a while. Marina took very good care of me.”

“Did she? I’ll send her a fruit basket.” 

The initial strangeness has transmuted, thudding hot and deep into Taron’s stomach, his brain in overdrive. He can’t stop thinking. He can’t stop _touching_ him. 

Taron traces his fingertips up under the sleeve of his t-shirt, and then reaches down and grabs his arse.

“Everywhere?” he asks in a low murmur.

Richard's mouth falls open and he says on a breath, “Oh. Oh, yes—”

Taron _pushes_ him into the bedroom and strips him brutally. Every inch of skin he sees anew makes him harder than he already was, Richard so fair and flushed and silken under his gaze, under his hands, wandering and taking twice as long to undress him as normal. Taron lays him down and gets his hands on him properly, running awed from toe to thigh in a slow firm caress, Richard squirming as he does. The sensation is so strange, smooth legs, _like a girl’s_ his brain unhelpfully supplies, but _not_ , his thighs and calves so thick and strapped with muscle as they pin him in, quivering. Taron leans down to mouth at the crease of his thigh, nestles closer and presses kisses around the base of his swelling cock, no neatly trimmed thatch of hair, just velvety skin that doesn’t fucking end, miles and miles of it. Richard is half hard and trembling and he takes his time just familiarizing himself, stroking him, rubbing against him, smelling sweat.

He mostly ignores Richard’s quiet pants and huffed noises above him as he explores, sweeping his palms everywhere to luxuriate in the seamless feeling of lush skin under them.

“Sweetheart,” Taron murmurs, kissing at his hip. Richard sighs. It’s not like— there’s definitely nothing _girly_ about him, the span of Richard’s hands on his shoulders and the firm swell of his pecs is mouthwatering and male. Richard just feels _closer_ , all of him one small bit closer to Taron, just a little more sensitive and real as he thumbs over his nipples ( _his hairless chest_ ) and Richard writhes gently.

He’s been so well behaved, letting Taron just manhandle him while he put the pieces of his brain back together.

“Do you like it,” Taron asks.

“I— it’s more— it’s weird, I—”

“I asked if you like it.”

Richard closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“Turn over.” Taron’s eyes must be wild, enough so that Richard doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t answer at all, just does it.

Taron plasters himself to his back, leans down to mouth over his shoulders and thrust against him, still clothed, to get some relief. He digs his fingers into the ridges of his back and Richard hisses, tensing up muscle from his neck to his legs, and Taron shakes.

“Can’t stop touching you.”

“I’ve noticed,” Richard rumbles, deep in his chest. “It won’t be forever, it’s a bit of a thing to keep up, it’s kind of—”

“Shut up, I’m enjoying this,” Taron says painfully. He shuffles down to lick at the sweaty dip of his back and grope the swell of his arse. Richard abruptly shuts up.

The firm muscles jump and soften under his hands, and then under his mouth as he bites at random over his cheeks, Richard huffing out a helpless laugh, his hips lifting into it. 

Richard helpfully stuffs a pillow under his hips as Taron frantically undresses (how did he not get rid of his clothes earlier, he needs to _feel all of him_ ) and kneels up, stroking smoothly over his carved back and arse and thighs. Taron parts his cheeks in two firm hands to see his pink hole, sweet and vulgar, and his cock throbs insistently. Richards back bows under him, one smooth line, knees spreading.

There’s— so much of him, and it’s all—

“Taron, I’m— _please._ ” He’s shocked alert at Richard twisting under him, suddenly realizes he’s just been staring.

Taron licks his thumb, strums it up and down his smooth crease. “So gorgeous. This is crazy, this is—” 

“I've thought about this,” Richard confesses, scattered. “When I shower, when I’m getting dressed, when I’m in bed and my legs, and everything, in the sheets, I—”

Taron doesn’t hear the end of it, as much as he’d like to, because he couldn’t wait anymore and leaned down and licked a firm stripe down from his balls up and over his hole and Richard shoves his face into the pillow and makes an unholy noise.

Taron licks tenderly against him, reveling in the skin so soft, so _soft_ and open to his tongue. He laves up and down his entire crack until it’s wet and dripping with spit, shining in the dim light when he rears back and blows gently and Richard’s hips rise.

“G-god, please. Need your mouth on me.”

Taron feels near drunk, the peachy swell of his arse so inviting, begging to be lavished as sweetly as Richard himself is. He holds apart his cheeks and licks openly now, kissing and licking and sucking over his entrance, the flesh slick against his face. He screws his mouth to him and flicks his tongue mercilessly against his rim as Richard cries out.

“Taste so good,” Taron says, and means it. He wriggles a hand under his hips where he’s been shoving into the pillow and Richard swats him away, pants, “No, just, please—”

Taron wastes no time, sets his jaw and eats him out thoroughly like he’s been asking for, like he wanted to do since he ran a hand up his arm and felt a sudden charge run through him. It’s sloppy with so much spit and he doesn’t care at all, chasing the feeling of his rim twitching and slackening under his tongue, feeling like there’s no end to it, no end to him, utterly exposed and laid out entirely for him to have.

He rises and catches his breath, realizes Richard’s been gripping himself and shoving back onto him. The wet shine of his arse, the puffy pink skin; he slaps over his hole, mild but firm, just once, compelled to do it. Richard arches and sobs.

“Can’t stop. I’d do this all night.” Taron’s voice sounds so wrecked to his own ears.

Taron traces a soothing hand up and over his crack, and over again, firmer and firmer and closer to his hole until he’s rubbing over it, dips just the first knuckle of his thumb inside and watches it open up around him, pornographic.

He tugs a little, thrusts in a little, and Richard keens. It’s the greatest fucking feeling, playing with Richard and trying things and watching his reactions come unbidden, so keyed in to what Taron is doing and giving it back in turn, a feedback loop of attention they feed to each other.

Taron leans back down and licks around his thumb where it’s pushing into him, and Richard thrusts down, back against his mouth more urgently, and he pulls it out entirely as he wriggles his tongue _inside_ —

Richard shouts and shoves back against him and heaves his hips into the mattress and comes, Taron licking him through it, feeling him clench around him as he spasms. Richard's limbs contract as he rides through his orgasm, knees hiking up, and Taron pets his thick thighs, hard and sleek as stone, even as his tongue keeps spearing him open.

He soothes his hands over Richard as his hips still, pulls his cheeks this way and that, then leans over and spits over his hole.

“Jesus fucking _christ_ , Taron.”

He shoves his cock over it, the shiny wet slide of it warm and electric-feeling. Taron nudges his knees further up and grips Richard’s cheeks around him, shoving through the squeeze of them, and it feels slick and so fucking good until it gets too tacky, his hips stuttering.

Richard reaches for the bedside drawer and fumbles out some lube, squeezes it into his hand and reaches back and Taron grabs Richard's thick forearm ( _fuck_ , but he’s strong) and shoves into the awkward clutch of his fist, coating himself with lube and shivering at the firm grip of a hand around him before moving back to his goal, manipulating Richard’s cheeks around him as he thrusts over and over again, the red tip of his cock peeking out between the pale smooth halves of his arse, flushed pink and mottled with marks from his mouth and hands, and it tips him over all at once, shooting up his back some before spreading Richard with one hand and fisting himself through it, marking his cheeks and abused hole with spatters of come.

Taron takes a moment to revel in the sight of him, panting and blinking stars out of his eyes, then leans in and licks wide stripes over him, tasting come and lube, and it’s not exactly pleasant but he’s addicted to the sheer feeling of it, the totally frictionless slide of his mouth over Richard’s skin.

Richard is boneless under him, entirely lax and rocking lazily into his tongue, then into the press of his mouth, as Taron kisses up his back before flopping beside him.

Richard shifts aimlessly, fuzzy and speechless. “Messy,” he moans eventually.

“Yeah,” Taron answers, breathless.

They’re too fucked out for words; the last thing Taron remembers before his eyes slide closed is a kiss pressed to his head, a sleek leg tangling in between his.


End file.
